


Owen Grady Collection

by fallofatlas (torviironside)



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torviironside/pseuds/fallofatlas
Summary: A collection of short stories (in chronological order) following the end of Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. The narrative focuses heavily on Owen, the (further) development of his relationship with Claire and their newfound responsibilities of being parents to Maisie.





	1. His Girls

“You two go on. I’ll be inside in a minute.” Owen looks up from the dying fire in the old, rusted wheel rim he’d taken from a junkyard to watch as Maisie reaches for Claire’s hand and the two head inside his old driving Airstream RV. It’s small and each day they make progress on the cabin. It goes faster with Claire’s help …and admittedly there’s something he finds extremely attractive about watching her work with a hammer and a nail, wearing one of his old flannels tucked into her jeans so it fits her form better and doesn’t hang off of her. The view from the bottom of the latter as he holds it steady for her as she climbs onto the roof isn’t bad either.

If he were asked Claire was her most beautiful first thing in the morning with her hair a mess, no make-up on, wearing one of his too-big-for-her henley shirts that hangs down to her mid-thigh with the golden rays of the morning sun painting her in a soft bronze light. And those legs. Legs for days. Owen watches as the two of them disappear inside, Claire shutting the screen door behind her.

He stamps out the glowing embers with his boot, and turns his back to the woods only to look over his shoulder when he hears a ‘tap, tap, tap, tap’. For a moment hope bubbles up in his chest and in the soft moonbeams he looks for the familiar glint of an amber eye in the shadows of the trees. He almost calls out. For her. For Blue. Her name begins to form on the tip of his tongue, he draws in a breath of the cool, fresh California air preparing to vocalize and stops himself. Abruptly. Irrevocably. His shoulders slump ever-so-slightly as he releases the breath he drew in on her name.

“Owen?” Claire’s voice breaks him out of his concentration and Owen blinks at her as she steps up to his side — he doesn’t remember turning to full face the woodland — hugging her arms to herself. She’s changed into one of his worn Henley shirts — cream colored and stained with motor grease. Claire, surprisingly, didn’t seem to mind. She wears flannel pajama bottoms — for Maisie’s sake. They were Maisie’s parents now. Not officially. Not yet, anyway. The adoption process was a long on-going battle with the state and Lockwood Estate that Scott, Claire’s brother-in-law — who also coincidentally happened to be a lawyer — was helping them with. When Claire wasn’t helping him with the cabin, she was tending to her duties at Dinosaur Protection Group and her newfound duties as Maisie’s mother.

Newfound duties that Claire took to very quickly. Not that it surprised Owen. She’d shown her maternal instincts when her nephews had been in danger in the park. She was a natural.

He looks from the woods — where his gaze had habitually flickered back to — to Claire when she presses her hand to the crook of his arm and rubs her hand up and down his back. They share a wordless exchange with their eyes, neither of them speaking for a prolonged moment.

“It was just a woodpecker, probably.” He says eventually, breaking the chorus of crickets and the soft sound of the lake behind the cabin lapping at the bank.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Claire reassures him, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Claire’s hand on his arm slides down, her fingers skimming over his and press against his palm, sliding into his grasp.

“Come on inside, Owen,” She gives his hand a soft tug. “Maisie wants to watch Frozen.” Owen’s lips twitch as he lets Claire lead him up the steps and into the RV. Owen casts one last look at the woods through the screen door as he closes the heavy door and locks it. Maisie and Claire had already settled on the couch, already pulled out into a bed for Maisie.

“Come on! Come on!” Maisie exclaims eagerly, waving him over. Owen kicks his boots off, stops by the fridge and grabs a beer. He twists the top off and tosses it on the counter. He climbs over Claire chuckling under his breath as she lets out a noise of protest. He comes down on his elbow, sandwiching himself between Claire and Maisie and scooches around in an effort to get comfortable as Claire starts the DVD.

The RV rocks with his motions and he settles in, taking a swig of the beer.

“So which one is Frozen again? The one with Anna and Elle?” Owen asks as the Disney logo.

“Her name’s Elsa.” Maisie corrects him and Owen lets out a low grunt as he takes another sip of beer, draping his arm around Claire as she snuggles up against him, her right leg slung over his left leg and her head on his shoulder. Owen can tell the moment that Claire falls asleep.

About halfway through the movie he polishes off his beer and stretches back to put the empty bottle on the table, confident that he won’t disturb Claire too much.

He looks down in surprise as Maisie cuddles against him next, her face buried against his chest as she, too, falls asleep. Careful not to disturb her, Owen puts his arm around her too, tugging her blanket up to her shoulders. He shifts his weight cautiously between them, and though he knows he’ll wake up in the morning with a sore neck, he leans his head back against the wall, closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep sandwiched between his girls.


	2. Plus One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly mature themes in this piece. Nothing overly detailed or explicit though.

Owen wakes up as the sun begins it’s ascension in the morning sky, painting the horizon a myriad of pastel colors of dawn through the velveteen night. The light over the Airstream’s stove is left on, casting a soft glow over the small camper. He peeks out of the bedroom to check on Maisie, resting his arm on the wall where the wood door slides out to divide the bedroom from the rest of the RV. Some nights were better for her than other’s. Some nights she slept in her makeshift bed and others he’d wake up — his time as a SEAL had made him a light sleeper capable of waking up at the smallest of sounds — to Maisie clutching her stuffed t-rex, eyes wet with tears from her nightmares. He thought the stuffed animal was in poor taste when Claire suggested that it might help Maisie with the nightmares she suffered from.

Maybe it did; but it couldn’t keep them all away and Owen knew each night that she suffered from them. Bless her innocent heart nothing seemed to diminish Maisie’s love of dinosaurs. During those nights, Owen will place his hand to her cheek, swiping away her tears with his thumbs and allow her to climb into the bed where she quickly slides under the covers and nestles herself between Claire and him. Sometimes Claire wakes up to drop a kiss to the girl’s head and run her fingers over the scruff on his cheek. 

Maisie looks peaceful in her sleep, the head of the t-rex clutches under her arm. She has a fistful of her blanket and she’s sucking her thumb, he realizes. For a moment, Owen worries about it. She has far surpassed the age where that is “acceptable”. Of course, an eleven year old climbing into bed with them to soothe her nightmares wasn’t precisely healthy either. That was creating habits of co-dependency and Owen knew that Maisie was brave and intelligent and very much independent.

He trusted her like he trusted Blue — he gives Maisie run of his land, though Owen ensures she has a walkie-talkie clipped to her belt and that it’s on so they can stay in contact in case something did happen. Claire isn’t quite so keen on letting her roam the woods like a “wild thing”, coming back to them with new scrapes and bruises, sap stuck in her hair and clothes dirty and even in some cases tattered. Owen has that old saying of “kids will be kids” and assures Claire that his Pops let him roam the farm like a “wild thing” and he turned out just fine. She rolls her eyes at that but it appears to soothe the worst of Claire’s anxieties.

Claire shifts in the bed behind him and Owen drops his arm, turning his head to glimpse at the bed. The covers have shifted and one of Claire’s pale legs hangs out. 

“Owen?” She inquires sleepily, gasping as she pats his side of the bed to find it empty. She clutches the covers to her chest as she sits up.

“I’m here.” His voice is raspy, quieted to a hush as to not disturb Maisie. He turns, quietly unhooking the door stopper and gently and slowly slides the door closed. It has no lock and it’s thin but it offers them some privacy. 

It’s hard to be quiet and not cause the camper to rock — especially when it rocks from just walking through it. Harder yet to not disturb Maisie or let her know what’s happening. Owen isn’t used to having to sneak around. It was almost fun at first but now it just makes him anxious and he tries not to feel gross about it.

They’d learned, mostly from trial and error, with little other choice presently how to be quick and quiet about it. Most parents have the baby and toddler stages to learn how to be sneaky about sex but Claire and him became over-night parents to a highly intelligent eleven year old. Old enough to grasp what happens between two adults in love but not old enough that Owen believes her innocence should be spoiled by “the talk”; and anyway he thought he’d let Claire handle that one when the time came.

“We didn’t wake her, did we?” Claire asks a little while later as Owen fishes for his jeans that Claire threw …somewhere. He shoots her a look as his fingers skim over the smooth denim of his jeans and he snatches them from the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed and tugs on a fresh pair of briefs and pulls his jeans on one leg at a time, tugging them up before he buttons them closed. She laughs, pulling the covers over her head, her face flushed a pretty red under the bronze light of the rising sun peeking through the slats of the blind.

“We’re terrible parents.” Claire groans, her words muffled by the bunch of fabric over her face.

“Because we have sex?” Owen asks her as he opens up the small closet — mostly taken over by Claire’s clothes — and finds a clean henley shirt. He tugs it over his head and pulls it down as he rounds the bed to Claire’s side.

“Listen, I know my parents were having sex when I was twelve because when I turned thirteen they gave me a baby brother for my birthday.” Claire busts into laughter and protests as Owen tugs the covers down from her face. “So, no. We’re not terrible parents.” He leans down and kisses her.

“Mm, get out of here Owen. Before I decide you’re not allowed to leave this bed anymore.” Claire breaks the kiss and shoos him away when he throws her a lopsided grin. He slides the wooden door open enough for him to slip out before he gently closes it. He peeks down at Maisie as he moves past the couch, sighing in relief that she appears still deep in slumber, still sucking her thumb. He unlocks the RV’s door and steps outside into the cool morning after he slips on his boots. He heads to the fire pit and pokes at the ashes with the toe of his boot, before he goes to the firewood pile and grabs enough to make a small fire. He layers the wood in the pit and grabs a couple hand rolled newspaper from the plastic bin they kept it in. After that’s placed on and around the wood he takes the lighter out of his pocket and flicks it, lighting a corner of a newspaper before he kneels down and drops the flaming newspaper into the pit, watching as it catches and the fire spreads.

He promised Maisie they’d make breakfast over the fire and though it took longer than over the stove — and damnit he was getting hungry ( which was his own fault; he knows better than to have sex on an empty stomach ) — Owen didn’t want to deny the young girl anything.

“How’d you sleep, Mais?” Owen asks as she slips out of the camper, dressed but clutching her t-rex stuffed animal.

“Ok, I think. I didn’t have any nightmares last night.” Maisie answers, rubbing her eye with a small fist.

“Good.” Owen still worried about her. Claire and him were not qualified psychiatrists and he can’t help but think maybe they should try to get her a therapist. The Navy’d forced him to go to one regularly after each mission. 

It probably wasn’t a bad idea to get her enrolled in school so she can socialize with kids her own age and has all the experiences of a normal kid. Clone or not, she was still a child; and try as Owen might he can’t help but study her behavior. He studies Claire’s too. As an animal behaviorist it’s ingrained in him, and the switch between animal and human isn’t very different.

Owen poked at the fire with the metal poker, stoking the flames.

“Owen?” Maisie asks coming up beside him, holding out her hands to soak up the fire’s warmth. Owen looks up at her.

“What’s up?” He can tell she’s troubled by the furrow of her brow and the frown tugging at her lips.

“Is Claire alright?”

It’s Owen’s turn to give her a puzzled expression, wondering if Maisie’d been faking sleep earlier.

“Why?” Owen inquires with a soft clear of his throat, telling himself that he’d figure it out if she had actually been awake. He didn’t want to have to be the one to talk to her about it but she was smart and it would be an insult to her intelligence to write it off as anything less than it was.

“She was throwing up a little bit ago.” Owen stands up abruptly, his mind trying to make sense of it. She was fine earlier. She hadn’t complained of an upset stomach — and no doubt if she hadn’t been feeling well she wouldn’t have wanted to have sex. The puzzle pieces begin to form together in his mind.

“Holy shit.”

He hands Maisie the poker and instructs her on what to do, telling her to be careful for extra measure before he heads inside the RV. It takes three long strides to put him in front of the closed bathroom door.

He deliberates for a long moment.

“Claire?” He eventually asks, looming before the door, blocking the doorway with his frame. The shower’s running.

“Claire!” He calls again.

“Hold on! Let me get out of the shower and get dressed.” It’s the longest handful of minutes in Owen’s life before she slides the door open and he’s greeted by the warm, muggy air of the shower. She lets out a small noise of surprise to find him there. “Owen. Let me out.” She goes to duck around him but he stops her with his arm.

“Maisie said you were throwing up.” Owen tells her point blank, looking down at her expectantly. His eyes go to the small counter looking for the tell-tale test. He doesn’t see one and he looks back down at her as she presses her hands to his chest and stomach and pushes him back. He allows her to, breathing in the wafting scent of her fruity shampoo as she brushes past him.

“Damnit.” Claire sighs as she runs a brush through her hair. “I was going to wait to tell you…”

“Wait to tell me what?” Owen demands.

“Owen I’m …” Claire loses her voice on the last word, fidgeting nervously with the cuff of her shirt. Owen looks at her expectantly, grabbing her dainty shoulders in his hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “I’m pregnant.” Claire blurts it out. Sort of as if she’s ripping off a bandaid. Owen’s fairly certain that she even winces as she says it. For a moment, his grip on her shoulders is the only thing keeping him grounded as her words sink in.

“You’re pregnant?” He repeats the words back at her, incapable of mustering much of anything else. He feels dumb as the words leave his lips but he’s in shock. He understands, of course, how it happened. 

“Yes.” Claire whispers, pressing her hand to her mouth as tears well in her eyes.

Her tears jolted him quickly out of the shock and Owen feels his brow furrow.

“Why’re you crying?” Owen asks her, one hand moving from her shoulder, down to her waist, while the other way cups her face, brushing her wet red hair out of her face, trying to catch and swipe away her tears as he does so.

“I know,” Claire takes a breath in an effort to compose herself and instead lets out a sob that he feels like a bullet in his bones. She tries again. “I know it’s not opportune. I mean with the dinosaurs on the loose,” She waves her hand errantly. “and with us still trying to figure out how to be parents to Maisie.”

Owen realizes that Claire’s worried he’s angry and for a moment, very briefly, he does feel a spike of annoyance at her. For assuming that he’d be angry about a baby. _Their_ baby. Or that he wouldn’t want it. Or whatever other worse case scenarios of things that he’d never in a million years feel is going through her mind; or has went through her mind.

“Is anyone ever prepared for a baby?” Owen asks her, drawing her against him. Claire doesn’t resist and he buries his face in her hair, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

“People that plan to have one, yes.” He laughs because the answer was so Claire and his heart swells with so much joy that for a moment Owen fears it might explode out of his chest. Because god damn he loved her.

“We’ve got nine months to plan for little baby Dearing-Grady.” Owen shushes her, grinning down at her as she pushes against his chest to put some distance between them so she can look up at him. Her lips part to ask her question but she doesn’t need to. He can read it in her eyes. “Of course I do.” He replies in a raspy murmur. “Jesus, Claire. I love you so much that somedays it genuinely annoys the shit out of me,” She laughs, clutching onto his shoulder as his body bows in on itself with the depth of her laughter. “We made a baby.”

“Well, actually, I’m making a baby.” Claire corrects him and Owen snorts.

“I helped.”Claire shoots him a look and Owen rolls his eyes. “Fifty percent of the baby making process is me.” Claire lets out a loud laugh and steps away from her.

“Fifty? Don’t you think you’re overreaching?” Claire asks him deadpan as she opens the fridge and pulls out two avacados.

“Ok. Thirty percent.”

“Thirty? I’m sorry but who’s currently growing our baby inside them? And will continue to grow the baby for nine months? And give birth to them? And then breast feed until they can eat solid food?” Owen grinds his teeth together and crosses his arms over his chest, knowing he probably looks like a petulant over-grown child. It's what he feels like at the moment.

“I’ll give you ten percent credit.” Claire shoots him a cheeky grin over her shoulder as she kicks the fridge door closed and sets the avocados down on the cutting board, peeling off the market price stickers.

“Ten percent?”

“Ten percent is generous and you know it Owen.” She tells him casually with a roll of her shoulders as she takes a knife from the knife set and slices each avocado in half, fishing a spoon out of the drawer to pull out the pits.

“Does Maisie know yet?” Owen asks abruptly, letting Claire win the argument with a subject change. He looks out the small RV kitchen window to where Maisie dutifully stokes the fire as he pulls out a bowl for the eggs, and grabs a handful of them and sets them carefully in the bowl, and balances the packages of bacon and sausage on the top of the bowl.

“No. I’m not quite sure how to approach the subject with her. She was an only child, and she’s used to undivided attention. Not to mention, she’s been through a lot in the past few weeks. I don’t want to cause her to pull away and distance herself from us.” Claire has obviously been worrying about telling Maisie as well. Owen tucks the bowl between his arm and ribcage and scratches at his facial hair with his free hand. “We can talk about it more a little later. Don’t stress out about it.” He drops a kiss to the top of her head as he moves past her. “We’ll figure it out.” He promises her, giving her shoulder a squeeze with his free hand before he heads outside.

Eager to help him, Maisie jumps up and sprints towards him, bouncing on her feet as he tells her to grab the fire pit grill piece and a skillet and she darts off to fetch the items he’d requested.


	3. Like Father, Like Daughter

Owen winced at every sound the percolating coffee maker made, glimpsing over to the Airstream’s bed where Claire and Maisie were cuddled together in sleep. He glimpses back at the coffee pot, cussing at it under his breath. Had it always been so damn loud? He wasn’t trying to wake either of them up though he feels the pressing need to speak to Claire about Maisie and address his concerns of their quasi-daughter with her. He has a few that itch at him in particular and the longer he puts off addressing them the more concerned he grows. He’s not a psychiatrist, it was true, which was precisely why he thought taking Maisie to one was in everyone’s best interest. He was afraid that by indulging her and soothing her every time she had nightmares they were creating bad co-dependency habits. She needed the tools to deal with her PTSD that Claire and him couldn’t provide her with. They were her support system, yes, and Owen was well adapted to dealing with PTSD even before Lockwood Estate and the Isla Nublar incident but everyone was different; and he was a grown man. It only made sense to him that children suffered from and dealt with it differently than adults would. The only problem was, trying to isolate Claire to speak to her with it. Since discovering Claire’s pregnancy she cut back on helping with the cabin — largely at Owen’s request — though she was stubborn as she’d ever been and still helped him with things. She spent more time at the Dinosaur Protection Group Headquarters again, still volleying for their rights and protection. 

There was one day Claire’d taken off and Owen surprised Maisie with an impromptu fishing day in the lake behind the almost finished cabin. He’d caught a massive large mouth bass that he’d been looking forward to cooking for dinner. Maisie’d started to cry and went into hysterics so bad that Owen ended up putting the fish back into the lake and spent a solid half hour holding her, smoothing his hand down her hair until she finally composed herself. 

Needless to say, he had to drive to the market now to buy fresh, pre-cut meat fish or otherwise. He hadn’t told Claire about that yet. Partially because Maisie’d asked him not to and Owen’s loathe to break the girl’s trust in him; but also because he didn’t want Claire to worry too much. Stress wasn’t good for the baby and Claire had plenty on her plate with the escaped Isla Nublar dinosaurs roaming around the United States and trying to garner government support to relocate them to Sanctuary.

He pours himself a mug of steaming coffee as the sheets rustle and he glimpses over to see Claire cautiously rise from the bed. “Go back to sleep baby.” Claire coos to Maisie and Owen watches as she leans down to drop a kiss to the girl’s head, tucking the sheets around her shoulders. It’s such a mothering gesture that Owen can’t help the proud smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. He pulls a second mug down from the cabinet and pours coffee and creamer in it for Claire as she moves towards him, coming to stand behind him. She wraps her arms around him and presses herself against his back, laying the side of her face against his back as he takes a sip of coffee from his mug.

“This baby’s definitely a Grady.” She murmurs and Owen barks out a laugh.

“I’d hope so.” He teases her.

“I meant because this baby’s making me hungry all the time.” Owen could almost hear Claire rolling her eyes at him. Despite his sarcastic response to calling their baby a Grady as opposed to Dearing-Grady as he’d taken to filled him with an elation that felt like it was egotistical. It probably was.

“I thought we were going to hyphen your maiden name with my name?” They’d been discussing a courthouse wedding ( amidst arguing who proposed to who because Owen swore he proposed but Claire is eager to argue that she proposed to him ) and having a small, family-only ceremony officiated by Owen’s preacher father just so they could have a ‘wedding’ and their family members wouldn’t feel dejected by the courthouse marriage.

The one thing the two of them were on agreements on was that they didn’t want a big wedding. Neither of them particularly cared about a big ceremony.

“I changed my mind. Especially since we’re going to hyphen Maisie’s name with Grady…it might cause too much confusion.” Claire explains and Owen nods, holding out her mug of coffee for her. Her arms unwind from his waist and she takes it with a soft murmur of gratitude.

It seemed like Owen’s opportunity while they were already talking about Maisie.

“I was thinking we’d take her into the city, get her some IHop for breakfast,” Owen says, taking Claire’s hand and leading her out of the RV, to the lawn lounge chairs they’d put out by the fire pit. “While we’re on the topic of Maisie,” Owen broaches taking a second sip of coffee. “We need to think about enrolling her in school. Her education was obviously a priority of Benjamin Lockwood’s because he had a whole fund just for her schooling. We can ensure that she gets into a high end private school like Iris wants,” A school that neither Claire or him could afford without Lockwood’s education fund for Maisie. “but I definitely think she should be around kids her own age. Start socializing beyond her own small bubble. She did well with Karen, Scott and the boys.” Owen watches Claire, feeling relief as she nods in agreement.

“I’ll give Iris a call and see if there’s any school she recommends Maisie should go to and see if I can get us an appointment to talk to someone in charge that can enroll Maisie.” Claire begins to plan and Owen decides that she’s got the matter handled. Claire always had been ‘get shit done’ and Owen’s confident that as long as she’s spearheading the effort that the Superintendent of whatever school Iris chooses won’t stand a chance. The sooner they can get Maisie integrated into society, the better.

“Which brings me to my next point,” Owen rubs his calloused fingers over the facial hair on his chin, taking another sip of his coffee. “I think we should seriously consider getting Maisie in to see a psychiatrist.” Owen inhales deeply and lets it out. “She went through a lot in a single night that most people don’t even go through in their entire lives. During my time with the SEALS,” He doesn’t speak of it often. Partially because he can’t and partially because he doesn’t want to. “part of our debriefing after a mission was a series of therapy sessions. I’m not saying that our support doesn’t help her but she needs to be given the tools to work through her PTSD. Tools that you and I can’t give her.” He takes an unsure breath and takes another sip of coffee. “Letting her crawl into our bed with us every time she has a nightmare isn’t helping her cope, Claire.”

“Owen…”

“Look, she’s eleven years old, Claire. It’s forming unhealthy amounts of dependency and you and I both know Maisie’s extremely independent.” Evidenced by her eagerness to run off into the woods for hours on end.

Claire is quiet for a long moment and Owen spares a glimpse at her to see how she’s reacted to his words. Her face is thoughtful, her mug cradled between her hands, close to her lips.

“You know a bit more about psychiatrists than me, so I’ll handle the school and you handle the therapists?”

“Of course.” Owen replies, eager to help her shoulder the responsibilities.

“Do you think she’s going to take the news well?” Claire asks him and for a moment Owen isn’t sure if she means her pregnancy — because they still have yet to break the news to Maisie out of Claire’s uncertainty on how to approach it delicately in case she doesn’t take it well — or school and therapy.

“I don’t know.” Owen replies, remembering the hysterics she went into when she realized he hadn’t intended on returning the bass to the water. “Maybe we should start with school and follow up with therapy, just in case.” Out of the two, he seems school as the discussion that will garner the better reaction from Maisie.

It turned out Owen had been right. Maisie had taken to the prospect of going to school and meeting people her own age rather well. Her reaction to the therapist hadn’t gone over nearly as smoothly. She hadn’t openly protested or caused a scene but the way she speared her stack of pancakes and grown quiet had told Owen all he needed to know. 

He hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been until he felt Claire’s hand rubbing up and down his back. 

“I’m not broken.” Maisie eventually spoke up, scowling at her pancakes she was pulverizing with her fork.

“Broken? Why would you think —?” Claire speaks her words trailing off as Owen interrupts.

“No one thinks you’re broken, Maisie.”

“Then why’re you making me go to a therapist? Aren’t therapists where they send you when they think there’s something wrong with you?” Maisie has tears in her eyes and Owen is torn between calling it off because he’s hurt her feelings and between holding his ground on it because he feels it’s what’s best for her. He feels the familiar weight of stubbornness settling into the set of his shoulders.

“ _No_.” The word is gruff and low as it falls from betwixt Owen’s lips, eyes scanning the busy pancake diner.

“No, no. That’s not true.” Claire seeks to assure the young girl sitting across from them.

“Yes it is.” Maisie argues and Owen recognizes the stubborn streak immediately as she mimics how he sits: shoulders steeled and arms crossed over her chest.

God, Maisie was his definitely his daughter. Not biologically but definitely where it mattered.

~~Like father, like daughter~~.

Owen doesn’t miss Claire’s heavy sigh and the subtle press of her hand against her abdomen. Would Maisie have been aware of Claire’s condition and the atmosphere at the table wasn’t so tense Owen might’ve made a wisecrack about how the Grady stubborn streak ran deep. It ran so deep that even Maisie had began to emulate it.

Claire ended saving breakfast by stepping in to compromise and suggested that Maisie should go and have an assessment session done to see what a professional recommended and that they, as a family, would decide _together_ ( she put a lot of emphasis on that to ensure that both he and Maisie was aware it would be a decision made by the three of them and not just two ). Eventually, Maisie and Owen relented and agreed to Claire’s terms.


	4. Raptor Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra drabble suggested by Camazotz where Owen tells Maisie he’s been to therapy to help their bond and ease the tension between them due to their disagreement on it. The title is a play off of something Maisie says to Owen in the drabble ( also because I generally had no freakin’ idea what to title this, lmao).

“Owen?” The sound of Claire’s voice and the touch of her dainty hand against his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts with a slight start. It wasn’t like him to zone out to the point that he hadn’t heard her coming, but he lost himself in thoughts and memories as he stared out at the calm lake. How long had he been standing there, arm propped against the wall of the almost finished cabin, hand loosely gripping the neck of his beer bottle? Owen didn’t know. 

The walkie-talkie he had clipped to his tool belt had been quiet which was alarming enough. Maisie often checked in, reporting on what she saw, or telling him fantastical stories that only a child’s mind could dream up. The woods had become a Narnia, the Forbidden Forest, the Seelie Court ( she had to explain that they’re fey because Owen isn’t brushed up on mythologies ), and currently Alderaan as Maisie went on a hunt for Princess Leia and Han Solo. Owen, who isn’t qualified to dissect and understand the behavior of children, isn’t sure whether this is healthy coping or …unhealthy. Like the nights she spent curled up between Claire and him. Or the thumb sucking.

Owen looks over at Claire who leans against him gripping onto his arm. He lifts his hand then to take a swill of his beer. It’s warm now and Owen resists the urge to gag on it. He enjoys a nice ice cold beer like any other man but warm beer tastes like piss to him. He leans down to sit it down at by his boot and as he rises Claire’s hand stands down his arm, her fingers seeking his. Owen closes his hand around her’s and leans down to drop a kiss to Claire’s cheek.

“I’m needed at the DPG Headquarters today,” Claire tells him, pressing her head against his arm. “I’ve got very important phone calls with some very important senators.” Owen’s gaze shifts from the lake to stare down at Claire in quiet amazement. He’d always known she was tenacious, not really the sort that takes ‘no’ for an answer. She was incredibly smart, brave and she held her ground no matter what. If anyone would get the dinosaurs protection and rights it would be Claire.

“Those senators don’t stand a chance.” Owen murmurs in encouragement, and also because he fully believes it to be true.

“I’m glad you think so because I’m nervous. If these calls don’t go well …—”

“They will. Wanna know how I know? Because you’re Claire Dearing and you get shit done,” He twists and leans his back against the cabin wall, pulling her gently — always mindful of the baby she carries in her womb even though she isn’t really showing too much yet — against him. “You fearlessly led a T-Rex out of it’s paddock in heels on the faith that she would take down the Indominus Rex,” Because, if Owen was being honest, that was all they’d had. Faith. No one had known for certain the two Jurassic tyrants would square off. It was a hunch. A hope. “You faced down the Indoraptor with unbridled courage. Not to mention, you majored in political-science and graduated with distinguished honors. You’re unstoppable Claire. You can handle a few pompous, too-wealthy-for-their-own-good assholes. You’ve got this.” Claire laughs and her cheeks flush a lovely pink as she looks up at him, her eyes wet with tears.

“Are you cryin’?” Owen asks her incredulous, reaching up to swipe away the tears as they slide down her cheek.

“That was a very motivational speech.” She tells him and he leans forward to press his lips to her’s.

“Good. It was meant to be.”

“And I’m hormonal. It’s all a wreck inside here emotionally.” She gestures errantly to her hand and Owen’s eyes trail up her body.

“A beautiful wreck.” He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Stop it.” She murmurs in protest but Owen can tell from the smile Claire’s trying to hide that she enjoys it …and he enjoys telling her. “Seriously though, are you …,” Claire pauses, taking a breath as she re-thinks her words. “Is everything going to be ok here while I’m gone?” She asks.

Owen knows what she’s getting at. Apropos of nothing, things have been a bit tense between Maisie and him since the morning he told her about the therapy session. Claire’s middle ground had helped some but Maisie didn’t appear overly convinced that he didn’t think she was broken despite his vocal protests and Owen could tell it hurt her deeply. She was close to Claire …but there was a bond between him and Maisie that reminded him ( a bit painfully at times ) of him and Blue. It was him that she took to, him that she trusted wholly and with her entire being even before she really knew him. All because she watched his videos with baby Blue and the other raptors.

“Yeah. We’ll be fine.” He assures Claire who sighs heavily.

“Maybe you should talk to her,” Claire suggests. “I know you can’t go into detail about things but tell her that you’ve been to therapy too. It might help.” She looks at her watch, leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him. “I’ve got to go.”

“Be careful. Good luck. Love you.” Owen calls after her.

“You too.” Claire says before she climbs inside her car, starts the engine and drives off.

Owen unclips the walkie-talkie from his belt and stares at it for a few minutes before he presses and holds in the talk button.

“Commander Maisie, this is Captain Grady. You’re wanted back at base.” He calls over the walkie, letting go of the call button. It feels a little awkward given the tension that lingers between them but it was how he usually called her home, varying from what she’s playing on the day. Sometimes he was the Seelie King, sometimes he was Aslan, sometimes he was something she called an ‘Auror’ from Harry Potter ( all those references more or less went over his head even though she’d explained it to him a thousand times ). Today, he assumed, he was a rebel captain.

Her end was quiet and anxiety and fear pool like ice in Owen’s stomach as he pushes off from the cabin’s wall. In an instant, he’s hyper-aware of everything. Of his body, of his surroundings, of every sound and movement.

His SEAL training kicks in immediately as the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Maisie?” He calls into the walkie but he’s already walking, swiping his rifle off of cabin’s porch and slinging it’s stop over his shoulder as he heads into the woods, tuning out the rapid beating of his heart.

He twists the walkie talkie’s volume low as he disappears into the towering ferns, looking for signs of which path his daughter took. Broken branches and trampled foliage give him a clear and well worn path. He pauses as he hears soft whimpering of pain and takes off in the direction wincing as low hanging branches cut across his cheek, to where he finds Maisie, propped up against a thick, twisting tree-trunk.

“Maisie!” Her name is choked as it comes from Owen’s lips as he moves to her, kneeling down in front of her. “What happened?”

“I thought I saw …and I lost my balance and fell.”

Owen hangs his head and lets out a low swear, as he cups her tear stained and dirt smudged cheeks in his hands.

“It’s ok Mais. I’m here. You’re safe.” Owen assures her around the lump in his throat. “What hurts? And how bad? One to ten.” He asks, looking her over trying to see if anything is visibly broken. Nothing looks broken but that isn’t overly reassuring to Owen. Something could still be broken. He notices she’s cradling her left wrist, and is suspiciously trying to make an effort not to move it.

“Eyes on me, Mais.” He commands quietly and holds her gaze, slowly reaching for her wrist. He presses two fingers to the heated flesh and she lets out a cry of pain that shoots through the marrow of his bones and presses her back against the trunk as if she could writhe away from the pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Owen mutters over and over, pushing her hair away from her face gently. “C’mon, we gotta get you to the hospital.” Gingerly, he loops an arm beneath her legs and around her back, ensures he has a good grip on her and carefully lifts her from the ground. Maisie lets out a low whimper of pain and nestles closer to him, burying her tear and dirt stained face into his shirt.

 

After they set her wrist, Owen sits with Maisie in the hospital room, waiting for her the results of her full body x-ray to ensure that nothing else is broken. He’s pulled the chair up to the side of her bed, the tv muted to some cartoon and other that he suspects Maisie isn’t really watching. He lowers his head into his hands, not even sure if it was the best time to broach the subject of therapy but Claire’s words come back to him.

“Look Mais,” He begins, resting his elbows on the edge of her bed, watching her. She glimpses at him from the corner of her eye, a subtle indication that she is, indeed, paying attention. “I know you’re upset about this whole therapy thing,” Owen takes a deep breath. “but it doesn’t mean your broken. My Commanding Officer told us that the therapy sessions were not because we were weak but because we were tough. The toughest of the tough and because we’d seen and survived things that most people couldn’t even fathom.”

At that, she does turn her head and blink at him.

“You went to therapy?”

“It was apart of my debriefing after every mission when I was a Navy SEAL.” He tells her with a solemn nod, watching as her expression softens and becomes curious. “You’re tough Maisie. You’re incredibly brave and strong.”

“Like you?”

Owen feels a soft smile tug at the corners of his lips.

“Braver and stronger than me.” He corrects her, watching as her brow furrows in contemplation.

“But I have nightmares…and you don’t.”

“Who says I don’t have nightmares?” Owen counters, moving to the edge of the bed, smoothing his fingers through her hair. The nurses had taken her braid out when they cleaned her up and he, habitually, begins the French braid process. Maisie shifts ever-so-slightly, allowing him to braid her hair as they talk.

“I have nightmares about losing you. Losing Blue. Losing Claire.” Owen admits. “Claire has nightmares too.” He tells her, figuring that Claire wouldn’t mind him divulging this information.

“I didn’t know.”

“We found ways to cope.” Owen wasn’t going to go into detail on that because she didn’t need to know. He takes his time braiding at the crown of her hair, focusing on each plait. “All I want to do with therapy is help to give you the tools you need to cope. To see what Claire and I can do to help you.”

“The way your Commanding Officer helped you?”

“Exactly.” Owen agrees in a quiet hum.

“Ok.” Maisie agrees after a moment.

“Don’t pick at the cast.” He clicks his tongue at her, catching her fidgeting with the edge of the olive green plaster they’d dressed her wrist in.

“It’s itchy.” Maisie complains in a huff.

“What if the therapist wants to do experiments on me? Because I’m a …clone?” Maisie’s voice drops low as she breaks the brief silence between them, voicing her true fear to him, Owen suspects.

“Claire and I’d never let that happen.” Owen promises her. “You’re more than just a clone, Maisie. You’re our daughter.” Owen tells her, grabbing a clear rubber band from the table as he finishes the braid and twists it around the end to keep the braid in place.

“Like Blue? She’s your daughter too, right?”

“Like Blue.” Owen confirms after a moment. “Except you’re not a velociraptor.”

“Maybe I am part raptor!” She giggles and roars at him as she twists around though she quiets as they hear a commotion outside of her room.

“That’s my daughter in that room. Now _move out of my way._ ” From the doorway Owen can see the poor nurse who is toe-to-toe with Claire Dearing and he can’t help his low chuckle. She never stood a chance. Claire moves past and when she crosses the threshold of the room her hard expression crumbles and she moves to the bed with a pained “Oh, Maisie.”

“I’m ok. Just a broken wrist.” Maisie assures Claire who pulls the girl into a hug as Owen slides off the bed and stands.

“That we know of. We’re waiting for the results from the full body scan. The doctors wanted to be thorough and I agreed that it was a good idea.” Owen corrects her.

“Promise me you won’t climb the trees anymore.” Claire still holding her tightly, her whisper fiercely as she seeks consolation that there won’t be a repeat of this.

“I promise.” Maisie says, her words muffled by Claire’s shoulder. 

“How’d your phone calls go?” Owen asks Claire, hoping that Maisie’s incident hadn’t disrupted anything.

“Good,” Claire grins over Maisie’s shoulder. “We got their support.”

Owen moves around the bed then, resting his hand on the rail at the end of the bed as the doctor comes in, rapping his knuckles lightly on the door. Claire and Maisie pull apart and Claire takes her hand and then reaches for Owen’s. He grabs her hand, rubbing his thumb against his her knuckles as her grip tightens on his hand. 

“So, what’s the verdict, Doc?” Owen asks, taking charge of the situation and breaking the silence that lingers between the four of them.

“Everything looks good. We’ll set an appointment now for her to come in, in 3 weeks to check on how it’s healing and go from there.”

“I’ll set up the appointment.” Claire rose from the bed and followed the doctor out to the reception area.

“You ready, kiddo?” Owen asks Maisie, smiling down at her when she takes his hand. 

“Did you know Owen was a SEAL?” Maisie asks Claire as they climb into Owen’s pickup truck. Claire looks at him over Maisie’s head as Maisie settles in the middle seat, buckling up. Claire rises her eyebrows and Owen gives a nod, starting the truck. She smiles and turns on the radio and the three of them sing to country songs on the way back to the cabin.


	5. Could've Gone Better (Part One)

It was their first night staying in the cabin, finally finished and furnished how their little family wanted it. It was a labor of hard work and though it was bigger than Owen’d intended when he set off to build it — he hadn’t expected to become an over night father, and neither had he expected Claire to be pregnant but those adjustments were easy to make and Owen really didn’t mind. Working kept his hands and mind busy. If he was busy he wasn’t worrying about Blue. Owen hasn’t seen her since the Lockwood Estate Incident and though he would never admit it to anyone it bothers him a lot more than he lets on. Late at night,   when he’s struggling to sleep sometimes he thinks he can hear her, hear the familiar barking call that raptors do. He’s writes it off as his imagination, as his brain trying to fulfill what his heart wants. He has Claire, he has Maisie and the baby that grows within Claire’s womb …and he’s happy but he misses Blue fiercely. His family isn’t complete without her.

Owen draws his hand gently up and down Claire’s spine, making an effort not to disturb her. She’s curled up against him, using him as a body pillow, her hand tucked under the small ‘v’ of his black henley shirt over his heart, her head on his shoulder, her leg slung over his. She was using his heartbeat to comfort her in sleep and he smiles up at the ceiling. He’s sweating. Not profusely but their combined body heat and the weight of the quilt Karen had gifted them with was making him incredibly hot. Still, he had no intentions of moving. Even though Owen wasn’t the ‘stay in bed all day’ type. Growing up on a farm that’d never been an option: there was always work that needed done and the Navy only helped to reinforce this habit.

Claire shifts then, making a small noise in the back of her throat and Owen laughs softly because it was cute as hell.

“How long have you been awake?” Claire asks him sleepily, slowly withdrawing her hand from his chest.

“Not too long.” Owen lies. It’s been about half an hour but he won’t tell her because Claire’ll feel bad. “How’d you sleep?” Owen asks. The baby didn’t always let Claire sleep well and she was up several times throughout the night going to the bathroom or raiding the kitchen. Sometimes she woke him up to ask him if he could go to the store to find some bizarre combination of foods.

“Very well, actually. The baby must think you’re the best body pillow.” She grins at him over her shoulder as she slides off the bed and stretches. Claire’s starting to show. Not enough that it’s undeniably notable beneath her clothes …but that was only a matter of time. Owen stretches and tries to get feeling back in his arm that had fallen asleep. Claire cradles her baby bump beneath the soft tan cotton of his henley shirt that she stole — and he was fairly sure he wasn’t going to be getting it back — and lets out a heavy weighted sigh. “We need to tell Maisie.” They’d managed to keep it from her for a month, neither of them sure how to broach the subject to her on top of not wanting to add to her stress as she went through bi-weekly therapy sessions to help with her PTSD.

“How are we going to do this?” Owen asks as he tosses his legs over the edge of the bed as he watches Claire step into the master bedroom bathroom. The lights come on automatically as she steps over the threshold.

“I don’t know,” Claire admits as she grabs her toothbrush. “I want to tell her first, though. Before we tell Karen, Scott and the boys later today.”

Owen makes a contemplative noise as he follows Claire into the bathroom and grabs his own toothbrush. When he’s finished he drops a kiss to Claire’s cheek as he brushes past her to let her have the bathroom to herself.

Owen’s surprised, when he pads into the living room, to find that Maisie’s already awake, his laptop perched on her knees. She’s watching his videos of Blue and her sisters when they were babies and he pauses at the end of the hallway wondering how many times Maisie’s watched them.

“ _Here I am with Blue. She’s displaying signs of interest, concern. She’s remarkable._ ” His own voice recites back to him as the camera zooms up on Blue’s face and his hand as she allows him to pet her under her chin.

Owen feels a wave of nostalgia and swallows against the lump of emotion the lodges in his throat. He took comfort from knowing she was alive …somewhere out there but he was selfish. Selfish because he wanted Blue here. With him. With them.

Owen clears his throat and pushes off from the wall he’d been leaning against, offering Maisie a smile as she whips her head to the side to look at him. She shuts the laptop lid hastily, like she’s been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. He doesn’t mind if she watches the videos. They weren’t secret and if it brings her comfort he isn’t about to take it away from her.

“Owen! I…” Maisie fumbles for something to say as she carefully places the laptop back on the coffee table where Owen’d left it the night before. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to ask.” He assures her stopping when he reaches the back of the couch. “Been up long?” He gestures to the flatscreen tv mounted on the wall playing a cartoon on mute.

“I couldn’t sleep …and I didn’t want to disturb you and Claire.” Maisie admits hesitantly.

“Nightmares?”

“No I … —” Maisie starts to lie to him and Owen feels his eyebrows rise. “Ok. Yes. But not about the Indoraptor. I had a nightmare about school. I’m nervous.” She admits quietly to him.

“The first day of school’s always nerve wracking. It’s normal to be nervous.” There was a whole month left until school started where Maisie’d been enrolled for the new year. “You’ve got a whole month, yet. Try not to worry about it too much. I know you’ll be fine.” Owen tells her, settling down on the couch beside her. She leans against him, picking at the edges of her cast. “What’d I say about picking at that?” He  stills her fidgeting fingers by placing his large hand over her much smaller one.

“I can’t wait to get it off.” Maisie complains with a heavy and dramatic sigh.

“I know. When I was seven I broke my leg and it was the worst summer of my life.”

“How’d you break your leg?” Maisie asks and Owen shifts his weight, letting out a sigh, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“I uh…my neighbor and I were playing ‘the floor is lava’ and were jumping from chair to chair and I jumped off the back of the couch and landed wrong on the floor.” Owen admits. Looking back on it, it’d been stupid. Why hadn’t they just used a trail of pillows to jump onto.

“The floor is lava?” Maisie asks him skeptically and he laughs from deep in his belly.

“It wasn’t my proudest moment. And let me tell you, I regretted playing it when I was mostly paralyzed from a dinosaur sedative and trying to get away from actual lava. It’s not a fun game when you’re actually trying to avoid real lava.” Owen chuckles. He can laugh about it now but at the time it’d been concerning.

“Wow.” Maisie breathes looking at him with large eyes. He hears Claire coming down the hall.

“Yeah, well. Running from lava and dinosaurs is all apart of the every day when Claire comes to you and asks you to go on a rescue mission with her.” Owen says.

“I heard that.” Claire deadpans.

“Good,” Owen laughs. “You were meant to.”

“Hey, why don’t you get dressed and brush your teeth, kiddo?” Owen taps Maisie on the knee. “We’re going to Aunt Karen’s for the day and she’s making us breakfast.” Claire’s in the kitchen, no doubt finding something to eat. Maisie jumps up and hurries into her room. Owen shuts off the tv and heads into the kitchen where he finds Claire slicing up two peaches for herself.

“We’re going to tell her when she comes back out.” Claire tells him, without looking up from what she was doing. “We’re ….just going to tell her.” Claire says firmly but Owen gets the distinct feeling her ‘pep talk’ is more for herself than him.

“Stop stressing about it Claire. It’ll be fine.” And he doesn’t say it but it wasn’t like Maisie actually had much of a choice. In about eight months time she was going to be a big sister end of discussion.

“You sound confident.”

“Well, y’know, if you stay something confidently it’s hard to argue with it.” Owen grins at her, watching as she pops another peach slice in her mouth.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Claire counters eyeing him as he leans against the fridge door, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Regardless we’ll just tell her —”

“Tell me what?” Maisie asks as she stands in the threshold of the kitchen staring at the two of them. Claire turns around in surprise, mid-bite of her peach slice. Claire looks to him, wide-eyed and in a rare instance utterly unprepared. Owen gives Claire a soft nudge with his elbow and she shoots him a look before she turns around to face Maisie and takes a breath. “Am in trouble?” She asks after the silence drags on.

“What? No! No, Mais. You’re not in trouble.” Claire is quick to reassure her. “It’s …Owen and I have some news for you and we just …weren’t sure how to tell you.” Maisie looks unsure, her gaze flickering between the two of them.

“What’s the news?” Maisie inquires, her curiosity winning over her uncertainty.

“I’m,” Claire takes a deep breath. “…I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” Owen watches as Maisie processes the news, her gaze moving to Claire where it rests as Claire instinctively cradles her small baby bump.

“Oh.” Maisie says. Claire looks at him, silently look for some validation whether the ‘oh’ was good or bad and Owen found he didn’t have an answer for her. “Can we go to Aunt Karen’s now?” She asks, as if Claire hadn’t even said anything. Claire grabs Owen’s arm, squeezing it tightly in panic.

“Maisie.” Owen chides her.

“I’m not happy about it, if that’s what you’re going to ask.” Maisie tells him and he feels his brow furrow as she stomps out, slamming the cabin’s front door behind her.

“Just let it go, Owen.” Claire tells him, scooping up the peach slices she has left and putting them into a small container. “We need to give her time to process and work through it.” Owen doesn’t feel like it’s the best approach but he does it because Claire asked him to.

The ride to Karen’s felt like an eternity to Owen. Maisie sat as close to him as she possibly could without sitting on his lap, putting as much distance as she could between Claire and her, staring out at the road that stretches on before them in stony silence. Claire, on the other hand, when Owen peeked at her regularly from the corner of his eye, seemed to be soothing herself by rubbing her baby bump. He could see the tears glisten down her cheeks and when she catches him looking she moves her head so she faces the passenger window. The tension in the cab of the truck could be sliced with a knife and Owen almost pulls the truck over a couple times, but tightens his grip on the steering wheel and keeps going.

When they reach Claire’s sister’s house he shuts the truck off and slides out so Maisie can get out without crawling over top of him. Without a word she disappears into the house. Owen watches her go with a forlorn expression and goes around the front of the truck to help Claire out of the truck. She ignores his hand and when she looks up at him she has fresh tears in her eyes.

“She hates me.” Claire says miserably.

“That’s not true.” Owen protests and Claire spares him a death glare that would have put stronger men than him down on their knees. “I’ll talk to her in a little while. I think you were right earlier. She needs time to process and work through it. It’ll be alright.” Owen attempts to reassure her.

“Yeah well, it doesn’t feel like it right now.” Claire huffs, slams the truck door and as their daughter had done moments ago, storms inside the house leaving Owen lingering outside for a few moments thinking it’s going to be a long day.


	6. Could've Gone Better (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I got to the end of this chapter I really, really regretted making it a two parter if only because I wanted to title this one: Dad’s giving Dad advice. I might still do it. Just because it fits better, lmao. To everyone who reads, likes and comments on this fic collection: I’m super grateful for all of you! Thank you so much!!!

“Here,” Owen looks at Scott who holds out a beer bottle he pulled from the cooler towards him. Owen reaches for it, accepting it by sliding his fingers around it’s long neck and twisting off the metal cap, listening to the satisfying hiss as the pressure’s released. “You look like you could use it.” Scott clapped him on the shoulder, lifting his own beer to his lips. Likely, Karen and probably Claire wouldn’t approve of them drinking so early but if Scott wasn’t too worried about it then neither would Owen be. Maisie was occupied with Gray as they discussed dinosaurs and they shared genome and DNA theories on the far end of the porch, Gray’s laptop placed between the two of them. Owen looks at Maisie’s back for a long moment, watching as she twists her long hair back into a ponytail. She’s engrossed in her little project and then he glimpses in the kitchen window where he can see Claire talking to Karen who pulls Claire into an embrace. For a moment Owen’s entire body shifts, alert, as he watches Claire cry into her sister’s shoulder.

It hurts him to see her be upset, to see her be in pain. Owen settles back against the garage wall where he and Scott leaned against it. It kills him to do so but Claire needs her sister. Likely, Karen would be able to help her with Maisie’s rejection of the baby on the way. She, too’d gone through having to tell a child that he was going to be a big brother.

“I take it Maisie didn’t take the news well?” Scott interrupts Owen’s thoughts and gradually his gaze falls back on his soon-to-be brother in law.

“Not even in the slightest.” Owen admits with a rough sigh, bringing the beer bottle to his lips once more. Claire’d broken the news to her family during breakfast and Maisie’d made a sour face at her waffles and Owen couldn’t help but feel that letting her to her thoughts — god only knew what she was thinking and feeling about it — was a bad idea. He understands that Claire doesn’t want to push like her mother pushed at her. In the end, it’d put distance between them …that and Claire’s decision to work for Misrani Global. Her mother hadn’t approved, she wanted Claire to pursue government or law. There was a lot Claire hadn’t told him about her internship with Bright Minds on Isla Nublar but he learned a little more each time it came up. Her non-disclosure agreement she signed is worthless as the company dissolved with the 2015 incident but Owen suspects she still feels loyalty to Simon Misrani.

“Claire thinks giving her time and space to process the news is the best course of action.” Owen says gruffly, taking another swig of beer.

“But you don’t agree.” Scott gives a nod and looks to where Maisie and Gray are huddled together.

“I mean, I get why she’s upset about it,” Owen sighs, feeling his frustration on the matter finally coming to light. He didn’t bring it up with either of the girls because both were pretty upset and feeling slighted by the other. “She was an only child for eleven years of her life. She was the apple of Benjamin Lockwood and Iris’s eye, endlessly doted upon by both. She was holed up in that Estate without other children, was never really socialized beyond her small circle because she couldn’t without all the laws and human rights activists and fire they’d generate that would’ve came down on Lockwood if his experiment had came to light and it would have.” Owen takes another swig of beer.

“She’s afraid the baby … _you and Claire’s baby_ is going to make you love her less.” Scott draws the conclusion and Owen lets out a small grunt of confirmation. Scott had caught on to what he’d been working up to. He _understands_ Maisie’s feelings on the baby but what frustrated him was his inability to figure out how to reassure her that, that wasn’t going to happen.

It’s quiet for a long moment as the two men fall into a companionable silence. The two of them didn’t have much in common. In fact, Scott and Owen couldn’t have been more polar opposites: Scott wasn’t a hunter, wasn’t a fisher, wasn’t ex-military and preferred to spend his time indoors over outdoors. He talked about a lot of legal things that went over Owen’s head when they talked about their jobs ( well Owen’s former jobs ) and it was obvious Scott didn’t relate to Owen’s career of raptor trainer and handler. 

As Franklin had once put it: Scott and Owen weren’t compatible.

But they each loved a Dearing woman …and that appeared to be enough to make them friends and brothers because somehow it worked.

“I know you’re worried about it and I know Claire’s highly upset about it,” Scott gestures absently to the kitchen. “which she’s going to be. She’s pregnant. You might as well accept the fact that she’s going to cry at the drop of a pin …it comes with the territory,” Admittedly, Scott was more knowledgeable when it came to pregnant women. Everything was new to Owen. “but honestly, Maisie’s reaction’s pretty normal. She’s used to being alone and because she dealt with a massive amount of change all at once, traumatic change, no less it makes sense that she’s going to be weary of and automatically resent it now. You know the problem. That’s a huge step forward to overcoming it and finding the solution. Talking about it, hearing Maisie’s grievances and concerns and doing your best to soothe them away will help but …let her be involved. In the doctor visits …if she wants, in the preparation efforts. Let her help pick a name. This’ll help reaffirm that the baby isn’t going to shut her out of you and Claire’s lives.” Scott shrugs his shoulders and Owen studies him with a newfound comradery with a little bit of unbridled shock that Owen hopes Scott doesn’t take offense to.

Owen hadn’t expected to find a guru in Scott but what the older man is saying makes sense and sounds like a really good foundation.

“Listen, being a seasoned father …you learn a few things.” Scott laughs, waving off Owen’s apologetic expression. “If you ever want advice I’ll try to help as best I can. I know it can be very overwhelming at times and sometimes you’re left feeling like you’re just digging yourself deeper into the pit instead of digging yourself out of it. You’ll figure it out, Owen. It comes with time. Just …trust your instincts and above all be patient.”

Owen nods. “Thanks, Scott.” He polishes off his beer and drops it in the recycling bin as he makes his way towards where Maisie and Gray sit.

“Hey Mais,” Owen calls out, thinking it was a good sign when she looks up and over her shoulder. “Let’s take a little walk.” Owen gestures to the dirt path that cuts through the woodland behind the Mitchell’s house.

“Ok.” Maisie says something to Gray who nods and she uncrosses her legs and stands, jumping off the porch as Owen approaches, his hands tucked into his pockets. They walk in silence, Maisie taking the lead with Owen bringing up the rear until they disappear into the woodland and she turns abruptly to face him, kicking up dirt with her scuffed converse.

“Is this about the baby?” She asks him deadpan. Owen doesn’t answer right away, searching her expression and body language for any sign that she’s going to shut him down. 

When he finds nothing that suggests she’s not willing to at least listen he broaches it further, tentatively, with a gruff “Yes” of affirmation. Toeing the line between Claire and Maisie as the meditator wasn’t going to be easy, he realizes. Owen doesn’ want to insinuate that he doesn’t want the baby; because, of course he does, and in the end Maisie doesn’t have a choice. He doesn’t want to disrespect Maisie who has validation in her feelings, either.

“I understand you’re feeling despondent,” The fancy word feels weird in his mouth and he thinks, with a spike of affection, that he’s clearly been around Claire for too long. Her large vocabulary is rubbing off on him. The starter feels way too formal and he gives his head a small shake as Maisie raises her eyebrow at him. “Look kiddo,” He begins again. The legal jargon worked well for Claire but it wasn’t Owen. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’. Bein’ a Dad is new to me —”

“But it’s not.” Maisie argues. “You’re the Father of Raptors. You raised Blue.”

She had him there …but raising raptors wasn’t like raising a human. He once told Claire that humans were an overrated species and that it was messy to have other people in one’s life. “The Father of Raptors, huh?” He reiterates it, but gives her a stern look. He doesn’t want to get sidetracked. They were having this conversation.

“Being a dad to humans is new to me,” Owen corrects himself so the conversation can move forward. “You’re the best kid that anyone could ask for,” He tells her, feeling his expression softening. “And I won’t lie to you Maisie. Some things are going to change when this baby comes,” Change was inevitable. “but I promise you that what isn’t going to change is how much Claire and I love you.”

It’s the first time he’s told Maisie that he loved her. It’s a big moment and Owen almost wishes that he wouldn’t have waited until she was upset to be the first time to say it to her. Still, he’d been so afraid to push. Her expression shifts then as she clearly contemplates his words. She’s taking him seriously, then.

“You’re the core of our little family, Maisie,” Owen kneels down so they’re eye level. “Claire and I didn’t plan on a baby because our little trio was perfect as it was,” He smiles as Maisie, his eyes going to the fidget of her fingers against the frayed edge of her cast.

“Mais. Stop pickin’ at your cast.” Owen tells her exasperatedly, feeling like a broken record. Her cheeks flush and she offers him an apologetic look, mumbling a “sorry”.

“but our little trio was meant to become a little quartet. And the baby’s going to need their big sister. To show them how to climb trees, and how to get to Narnia and safety navigate the Forbidden Forest and how to charm and win over the Seal Court.”

“Seelie Court.” Maisie corrects him, fighting the smile and giggle that threatens to show and come out.

“Right, Seelie Court.” He says apologetically. “Claire and I want you to be involved…or as involved as you want to be. Every step of the way. Claire’s gonna need help too. She’s going through a lot of changes too. So we gotta help her in any way that we can.” Maisie averts her eyes and scratches at a scab on her elbow.

“Stop pickin’ at your scabs.” Owen chides softly. Maisie sighs and looks at him exasperatedly. “Well…” Owen huffs defensively. “Stop pickin’ and I wouldn’t have to keep telling you about it.” Not that he had room to talk: he picked at his cast and scabs as a kid too.

“D’you think Blue would like the baby?”

“Blue?” Owen asks dumbly for a second, trying to make the connection of what Blue has to do with the baby. The truth was: he didn’t know. “I don’t…Blue’s never — been around a human baby before.” Owen says cautiously, hoping that Maisie wasn’t trying to base her feelings for the baby off of what Blue would or wouldn’t feel. There was a chance that Blue would eat the baby for all Owen knew and the thought immediately disturbed him.

“But — ah, I wouldn’t…wouldn’t base anything off what Blue might do.” Owen says hastily, almost tripping over the words before Maisie can form any sort of solid idea about it. That was the last thing he wanted to explain to Claire: that he made the situation worse by trying to make it better.

“I think she would like the baby.” Maisie concludes and Owen has to keep the relief he feels off his face.

“Yeah, she would.” He agrees with a false confidence he isn’t sure he feels.

“Is …,” Maisie pauses and scratches at her arm. “Is Claire terribly upset?” She asks hesitantly, almost guiltily. For a second Owen contemplates as Maisie starts to close the distance between them. He doesn’t want to lie but he doesn’t want Maisie to feel guilty for what Scott assured him was a natural reaction.

“She’s upset …but she’s pregnant so anything could make her cry.” Owen says, sticking with the truth but trying to soften it a bit for Maisie’s sake.

“No,” Maisie protests. “I was mean to her and I shouldn’t have been. I want to go apologize to her.” Maisie declares with a determined set of her brows and then, to Owen’s surprise, she flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck in a hug. His arms go around her.

“I love you and Claire too.” She whispers in his ear, hugging him tighter for a prolonged moment. Eventually, Maisie he releases him, and steps back a few steps to give him room to stand. He pushes himself to his feet and dusts off his jeans as best he can, taking her hand when Maisie holds it out to him.

Claire’s calmed down, cradling a steaming mug of coffee in her hands talking softly to Karen when he and Maisie enter the kitchen.

“Owen!” Claire’s eyebrows furrow as she takes note of his dusty jeans. “You’re all dirty.”

“Well…” He shrugs his shoulders tossing her a lopsided grin and a wink. “There’s somethin’ Maisie wants to say.” He gives Maisie’s hand an encouraging squeeze before he lets go.

Maisie lets out a small sob and throws herself at Claire, hugging her tightly.

“Oh!” Claire lets out a surprised, breathless noise and worried about the baby Owen automatically takes a stride forward to pull Maisie off of Claire. Karen’s arm shoots out to block him and she pats his chest.

“Stand down soldier,” Karen teases him. “The baby’s protected in there, don’t worry.”

Claire hugs Maisie to her, smoothing her fingers through the girl’s hair which she’d taken down once more at some point during their walk back to the house.

“I love you Claire,” Maisie’s words are slightly muffled. “and I’m sorry I was mean. I’m going to be the best big sister to my baby sibling. Like Blue!”

“Blue?” Claire asks curiously, looking across the kitchen at Owen, who has taken up post against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. He offers Claire a shrug. He was still bothered that she kept making connections to Blue in regards to the baby ...but if it worked to help Maisie come around to the idea of not being the only child in their family then it worked and Owen supposed he shouldn't question it too much.

“I love you too, Maisie …and I’m not mad. I promise.” Claire leans down to press a kiss to the top of Maisie’s head, rubbing her hand up and down the girl’s back for a few moments. “We can talk some more about this at home, if you’d like. I think Gray’s missing his science buddy though.” Claire gently peels Maisie off of her, kneeling down as best she can to kiss the girl’s forehead.

Maisie nods and gives Claire a last squeeze before she darts back out onto the porch.

“Color me impressed.” Karen pipes up, tossing Owen a wink over the rim of her mug.

“How on earth did you manage that?” Claire asks Owen, drawing nearer.

“Turns out those Father-Daughter heart to hearts really do work.” Owen says humbly, and then adds. “Scott gave me some really good advice.” He admits as Claire presses her hand to his bicep, stretches upon her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his mouth. Karen makes an indignant noise in the back of her throat.

“I’m still here, y’know,” She interjects causing Claire to laugh. “This is woman, sister bonding time. Out, out, out.” Karen shoos Owen towards the back door. “Besides, Scott looks like a lost puppy without you to talk to and I’m concerned he might blow himself up tinkering with that car. He has no idea what he’s doing.” Claire gives off a deep belly laugh that Owen can still hear as Karen shuts the door on him.

He jogs down the steps and joins Scott in the garage, accepting the second beer he holds out to him with an appreciative dip of his head, turning his attention to the old GTO’s motor Scott was currently scratching his head over.

“You know you gave me some advice Scott, so can I give you some in return? Gray’s really good with cars,” Owen recalls. “Zach, too . They got a twenty one year old derelict Jeep up and running …but I know you don’t see much of him with college and his girlfriend. Regardless, it might be a good bonding point for you and Gray. Work on this old beast together.” Owen pats the car’s fender affectionately.

“Yeah, I’ll ask him tomorrow.” Scott concurs thoughtfully.

Dad’s giving Dad advice was beginning to quickly feel normal to Owen.


	7. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, I debated over the past couple of hours on whether I should re-write this and/or post this at all because I'm second guessing and doubting myself. In the end, I decided to post it exactly as I wrote it. I spent a lot of time over the past few days thinking about this and puzzling out how she'd react, etc. Hopefully, this doesn't fall as 'too out of character' for Blue.

“Owen.” Claire’s voice is strained as it comes over the walkie-talkie Owen has clipped to his belt as Maisie and him make their way back to the cabin. They’d spent the better half of the afternoon and evening scouting out the perfect tree for a tree house. There was a lot of good lumber left and with the cabin finished Owen needed a new project to work on between helping Claire and Maisie create a nursery out of the spare bedroom. He’d thought about building an enclosure for Blue but the longer he goes without seeing her the more he thinks that he might’ve lost her forever. He doesn’t regret rescuing her from Isla Nublar …but he regrets the trauma she’d gone through. Being shot and locked in a cage in Wu’s mad science lab. Maybe she’d lost her trust in him. Owen couldn’t blame her if it was true. He’d led her to that. He was the reason she’d been shot. It was easy for him to see how he could’ve created distrust.

Owen fumbles for it for a second and presses the talk button, “What’s wrong?”

Claire’s end is quiet for a long moment and Owen stops walking, eyes scanning the deepening shadows of the woodland around them as the sun sinks lower into the sky. Maisie realizes he’s stopped and turns around, looking at him puzzled.

“Do you think it’s the baby?” Maisie asks him in a hoarse whisper, as if there’s a fear of being overheard and while Owen’s glad to hear that her worry is genuine it unintentionally generates a spike of panic at the thought.

“It’s Blue.” Claire eventually chokes out, the static from her end cutting out abruptly as she lets go of the ‘talk’ button.

“Ok. Ok, Claire. Claire? Listen to me. Just …stay calm. And whatever you do don’t turn your back on her. You hear me? Never turn your back to her. I’m on my way.” It sounds calmer than Owen feels. His voice is steady, a soothing rasp of commands over the walkie-talkie as to not alarm Claire further but the adrenaline rushing through his veins has made him shaky.

On legs that feel more numb than they should Owen takes off with Maisie hot on his heels.

Owen’s lungs and legs are burning by the time he reaches the edge of the woods. His arm shoots out to stop Maisie and usher her behind him. “Stay here.” He tells her in voice that exudes quiet authority. Maisie nods her head furiously but her wide eyes are trained on Claire and Blue and where they stand face to face against the backdrop of the lit cabin.

Owen pats his pockets out of habit for the clicker but remembers he’s left it in a drawer in his dresser. There hadn’t been a need to carry it around with him anymore. Slowly, he ducks beneath a low hanging tree branch and edges his way into the cabin’s front yard. He steps on a branch and curses low to himself as it snaps loudly under foot. Blue’s head whips towards him and she lets out a high pitched scream at him that causes Maisie to let out a small whimper of fear.

“Hey! Hey!” Owen commands Blue sharply, deepening his voice to communicate he didn’t approve of her warning to him or the expression of her displeasure of startling her. “Don’t give me that shit, Blue.” He holds his hand out but keeps moving forward, one small step at a time. Blue’s too close to Claire and he’s still too far away.

“Owen stop. Just …I can do this,” Claire takes a deep breath, her voice insinuating that she has gained some confidence. “Don’t you think if she wanted to hurt me she’d have done it already?” Owen still doesn’t like it. He’s too far away to jump between Claire and Blue if Blue would decide to attack her and after everything that Blue’s suffered he isn’t about to lie and say ‘yeah, she won’t hurt you’. He didn’t know that for sure and Blue and Claire’ve never had exclusive one-on-one contact like this before. It was a lottery and he’s not sure if the odds are in Claire’s favor or not.

Despite the internal war going on inside him. Owen’s hand lowers and Blue’s head swings back to face Claire. She lets out a low call to Claire.

“Hey Blue,” Claire tentatively reaches out her hand while her other hand instinctively and protectively cradles her baby bump. It takes all of Owen’s self control not to ignore Claire and keep inching forward. Claire and him make eye contact across the distance but his gaze snaps back to Blue as the raptor takes another step closer to Claire.

Claire. Brave and fearless Claire Dearing who doesn’t even take a step back. 

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The last time they’d seen her she’d been running off into the woods after saving them from the Indoraptor. Blue takes another step closer to Claire, inches from touching her nose to Claire’s outstretched palm …or from tearing her wrist from her arm. Owen’s anxiety skyrockets and he physically deliberates. He looks down, breaking eye contact with Claire and Blue as Maisie hugs herself to his arm.

“I told you to stay hidden.” Owen’s voice is too pained to be an actual reprimand. 

“You trust Blue, don’t you?” Maisie asks him hopefully.

Yes. No. Maybe. He didn’t know.

Owen doesn’t get a chance to answer as Blue lets out a series of noises. Chatter-like noises. Gentle and soft. Curious and soothing. He recognizes the vocalizations immediately. Still, he holds his breath as Blue hesitantly touches her nose to Claire’s palm and moves closer still. Owen could hear Blue’s rapid breathing punctuated by the low purring noises emitting from deep in her throat. Claire let’s Blue lead her palm down her neck and lets out a noise of surprise when Blue presses her muzzle to her belly bump. Owen realizes he’s been holding his breathfor too long when his lungs start to ache from oxygen deprivation.

“Owen!” Claire lets out a startled half sob, half laugh.

“Holy shit.” Owen exclaims forgetting, for a moment, that Maisie clings to him. He generally makes it a habit not to swear around her, if he can.

“She’s vocalizing to the baby.” Claire says in quiet awe. Owen can see it happening with his own two eyes and _he_ can barely believe it.

“Holy shit.” Owen says again with a soft, incredulous laugh as his arm goes around Maisie’s shoulder as she lets go of her death grip upon it. 

“Another human to add to her growing pack.” Maisie suggests in a quiet tone before shrugs out from beneath Owen’s grip and slowly makes her approach. Blue looks up from Claire’s baby bump and makes a soft noise at Claire before she looks to Maisie and makes her approach in return. They meet half way as Claire watches from her place near the cabin’s porch.

Owen watches as Blue sniffs at Maisie now, lets out a soft chattering noise, not as gentle as the one she’d used with Claire but far from aggressive and touches her muzzle to Maisie’s out stretched hand.

And then the raptor’s attention turns, last, to Owen. Maisie moves to where Claire is, hugging her as Claire draws her close for support as they, in turn, watch Blue approach her alpha.

“Hey girl.” Owen holds his hand out for her. Blue sniffs him next and makes low vocalizations at him, drawing nearer until she bypasses his outstretched hand and presses the side of her face against his arm. She blinks slowly at him and lets out a low snort, her hot breath fanning across his face. “I missed you.” He tells her. “I missed you so damn much.” 

Blue vocalizes softly at him again and presses the crown of her head against his chest, over his heart. He recognizes the gesture from when she’d been a hatchling. She liked to climb up his shirt and curl up tucked against his arm with her head on his chest to nap when the other raptors would nap slung unceremoniously over his legs and on his outstretched free hand. The behavior, he assumed, like any baby animal, that she liked listening to his heartbeat. It was a comfort tool. She’d never gotten to experience the heartbeat of a mother because Blue’d never had a mother …but she’d had a father’s heartbeat. Her breath is rapid and the purring noise she makes grows louder before she lifts her head, almost clocking him on the lower jaw with the gesture. He back steps last minute, narrowly avoiding the collision.

“Stay with us.” Owen pleas with her a second time as he rubs her under the chin, meeting her gaze. Blue studies him for a moment, and then looks from him to where Claire and Maisie stand clutching one another, and then to the woods. She lets out a low noise and then pulls away from Owen and he feels his heart sink in his chest as she moves away from him to the woods. 

“I can’t protect you out there Blue. I can’t stop trophy hunters from going after you. I can’t stop them from hurting you.” Owen’s desperate and ambles forward a few steps towards the raptor who’s turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her tail gives a wag and Owen fights against the tears that he feels burn in his eyes as Claire grabs his arm. To stop him. To support him. He didn’t know. Maisie throws her arms around his waist and hugs herself to him.

“Blue. Stay.” His voice is thick with emotion and he nearly chokes on the two simple words. She lets out a soft chattering noise. Short and simple before she snorts and disappears into the tree line.

“She’ll be alright Owen. You said it yourself. She’s highly intelligent and she’s tough as hell. Blue’s extraordinary.” Owen feels as Claire presses her forehead to his shoulder. “Just like the man that raised her.” He can hear in her voice that she’s started crying at some point, the struggle for breath and volume behind her words. “We’ll be inside,” Claire tells him and places a kiss on his cheek. “C’mon Mais.” He hears the two retreat back towards the cabin and he takes a deep breath of the cool night air.

In the distance Owen hears Blue call out into the night and he gives a soft but sorrowful smile before he turns and follows Claire and Maisie inside.


	8. PTA Dad

“I think Mais fell asleep.” Owen stage whispers to Claire from where the three of them sat on the couch, watching Maisie’s favorite before bedtime cartoons. Claire leans forward with a soft noise to pluck a dill pickle from the glass jar sitting on the coffee table before she dunks it in the container of mayonnaise. Owen makes a face as he watches her eat it.

“What?” She asks as she crunches away on the pickle. She goes to lean forward again but Owen stops her with a touch of his hand to her shoulder. He shifts, careful not to disturb Maisie whom had, indeed, fallen asleep against his shoulder, and hands Claire the jar of mayo and then the pickles.

“That’s disgusting.” He laughs because he’d heard that women crazed crazy combination of foods during their pregnancies but admittedly, he’d kind of thought it was a myth. She laughs as opposed to being offended and rubs her belly bump, pressing her sock covered feet against his thigh.

“Just remember it’s _your_ baby making me crave these weird food combinations.” Claire teases him and he shakes his head and tries to keep his laugh quiet. His shoulders shake with it nevertheless.

“Pretty sure it’s _our_ baby …and anyway I thought you were only giving me ten percent credit.” He teases her watching as Claire fishes for another pickle spear.

“Are you going to put poor Maisie to bed?” Claire changes the subject as she dips her umpteenth pickle into the mayo. Owen smirks knowing that the subject change meant he’d won their play argument.

“Yep.” Owen shifts on the couch, tightening his arm around Maisie’s small shoulders and hooking his free arm beneath her legs, lifting her effortlessly. “You comin’?” Maisie stirs slightly as Owen looks back at Claire over his shoulder and he feels her nuzzle her head against his chest.

“I’ll be there in a second,” She waves him on and Owen carries Maisie to her room, nudging her door open the rest of the way with his boot. He lays her gingerly on her bed, and pulls her covers up, tucking them around her shoulders. He smoothes her hair back from her face, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, Maisie.” 

Owen makes way for Claire, heading to the doorway as Claire smooths the covers and tucks Maisie’s stuffed t-rex beneath them for her, kissing the girl’s cheek. She murmurs something to Maisie that Owen doesn’t catch and he turns his back to the pair and heads back to the couch where he collapses unceremoniously upon it, grabbing the remote and turning off the tv.

“Hey,” Claire protests as she joins him on the couch, using him as a body rest instead of a foot rest this time. “I wanted to see who the villain was.”

“It’s Scooby-Doo, Claire. The villain is always the first person they meet.”

“Is it really?” She asks, genuine surprise in her tone as a deep belly laugh overtakes her. Owen can’t help but join in the laughter as Claire draws his arm around her, twining her fingers with his as she snuggles closer to him.

“So, I was thinkin’,” Owen broaches when things quiet down, thinking that now is as good a time as any. Maisie’s asleep, Claire’s awake and the night is quiet. For a second, Owen focuses on the symphony of crickets outside and bizarrely it reminds him of Isla Nublar. In a way, he misses it. He misses his bungalow, he misses his raptors and Barry whom he hasn’t made contact with since the Incident. “You know how Maisie’s therapist suggested we find ways to keep her busy?” Owen asks. She’d been a big help with the baby preparations and she helped him with the tree house …sometimes. She still wondered off to climb the trees — not that he’s going to be the one to tell Claire that Maisie’s already broken her promise — not being one to sit still for too long.

Claire gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Well, what if she volunteered at DPG? Not all the time, of course. I know you’ve got a lot going on but it’ll keep her busy plus let her help the dinosaurs.”

“That’s a great idea!” Claire’s enthusiasm makes Owen grin down at her as she looks up at him from his shoulder. “But,” Claire broaches, a little hesitant. “What do we do when she starts school?” It’s a good question. Maisie’s passion for the dinosaurs is important and Owen knows as parents they have to nurture her passions. He doesn’t want to curb any ounce of her potential.

“Running off the assumption that she accepts, of course.” Claire amends quickly.

“Her education’s the priority, obviously.” Owen goes off what his Pops always told him. “My old man used the old ‘you can wrestle and play football as long as your grades stay up’ and it worked pretty well because I hated school.” Never mind that he used his time in the Navy to his advantage and went to college with his G.I. bill. Regardless, Owen wasn’t a classroom guy. He wanted to be out in the field.

“We don’t have to worry about Maisie’s grades,” Claire assures him, stifling a yawn against his shoulder. “Iris gave me her transcripts for her years homeschooled since the school needed them in order to enroll her. She was taking advanced classes and excelling in them. Did she tell you she tested at genius level?”

Owen peeks over his opposite shoulder to where he can see the edge of Maisie’s bed from her room.

“No …but I believe it.” Owen knew she was incredibly gifted and intelligent.

“It’s no wonder her and Gray get along so well.” Claire deduces and Owen’s reminded that Maisie isn’t the only genius in the family.

“So I enrolled her in advanced classes for her fifth grade year.” Claire concludes and Owen nods his head.

“So, basically, we agree that when school starts Maisie knocks back DPG to after school.”

“After her homework’s done.” Claire interjects.

“Right. Of course,” Owen agrees and presses his lips to the top of Claire’s head. “Look at us bein’ parents.” He nudges her gently and she makes a contended noise.

“Oh!” Claire sits up and winces slightly, shifting against him. “Don’t forget to take her tomorrow to get her cast removed. I marked it on the calendar.” 

The ‘calendar’ was one of those giant office calendars hung up on the wall in by the fridge, filled with Claire’s neat handwriting, color coded with a pack of multi-color pens she’d bought and organized neatly by the time of day. Some of the events listed were her’s but most of them were his and Maisie’s. Claire kept her own monthly planner in her bag whose white pages were also filled with varying colors of the rainbow in small, neat handwriting. “And you’ve got that pre-first day of school PTA meeting tomorrow night.”

“PTA meeting?” School hadn’t even started yet …and what made Claire think he wanted to go to it?

“Yes. We talked about it. You said you’d go so I can focus on DPG.”

“Did I?” Owen doesn’t remember the conversation …until he does. Crap. He did tell her that; but he didn’t think she’d actually volunteer him for it. Admittedly, he’d said he’d go to them to keep her from stressing about when she’d fit them into her schedule. He cringes just thinking about it. She knows he’s not a people person.

“I’ll attend the ones with you that I can. But you never know Owen…you might make Dad friends.”

“I made you a list of questions I had for the teacher…”

“Claire —” Owen complains.

“Please, Owen. I want us to be involved in Maisie’s education. I don’t want to mess up.”

“Mess up what?”

“Being a mom.”

“Claire that is…that’s not going to happen. You’re a natural.” He feels extremely guilty now and quickly soothes it away by adding: “Ok. I’ll ask your questions. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got this.” Owen attempts to reassure her. She snuggles closer to him and closes her eyes. Their conversation over and her worries settled Claire drifted off to sleep quickly and before Owen knew it, he was fighting sleep and drifted off to sleep not soon after.


	9. She's A Boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up not going how I outlined and planned it to go. At all. But I wrote what came naturally and decided to leave it. It was a wild ride from start to finish honestly. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Owen vs. PTA meetings volume one.  
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Owen dropped Maisie off at Claire’s sister’s house and made his way to her school, following Claire’s detailed directions on a crumpled piece of paper propped up on the dashboard in front of his speedometer. He leans forward on his steering wheel as he pulls his pick-up truck into a parking spot, letting out a low, incredulous snort. It looked less like a school and more like a castle. Not entirely unlike the estate Maisie grew up in and for a long moment Owen worries that it might initially be a trigger to her PTSD and further wonders if Claire and Iris ever stopped to consider that. It oozed prestige and institution and Owen wants to sink into the bench seat of his pickup, parked between a Porsche and a Masarati. He half has an itch to call Claire and demand to know what in the hell she volunteered him for because he gets the growing suspicion as he steps out of his truck and slams the door closed, tucking Claire’s folded up list of questions into the back pocket of his faded jeans that he’s about to hate everything about this private school and the parents of it’s students.

Snooty rich folk were not Owen’s cup of tea and Claire _knows that_. As he steps through the doors he almost turns around and walks back out. His boot hesitates as Owen visibly deliberates with himself over it, one booted foot turned to the side to turn himself around …but ultimately pushes himself further into the _real_ marble floored hallway. His Henley shirt is a simple black, long sleeved, his jeans are faded but also clean and he scrubbed off his boots for the occasion …but when he walks into the cafeteria and sees all the other parents dressed in Armani and Gucci he immediately feels like a bum.

The scathing looks and not-so stage whispers of ‘who let _that_ in’ and ‘did he get lost on the way to the rodeo’ makes his hands clench into fists. Owen steels his shoulders, because he was a SEAL damnit and he rode a motorcycle through the jungle with a pack of velociraptors, and he was ready to square up with his fists against the Indoraptor …he could handle a pack of pompous a-holes. He offers them a lopsided grin and gives them a mock salute with his index finger.

“Oh!” The sea of staring — gaping is more accurate — rich folk part as a woman hurries forward. She, too, is dressed to the nines but she smiles widely at him. “Mr. Grady, right? Maisie Lockwood’s father?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Owen answers, trying to decide who she is. Her ' Hello My Name is’ sticker says Vanessa Romain …which essentially told Owen nothing. Claire’d forgotten to give him Maisie’s teacher’s name in her excitement and fussing. Miss Romain holds out her hand and Owen shakes it. “Ah, but I prefer Owen.” _Mr. Grady_ reminded him too much of his old man and Owen wasn’t ready to inherit the formal title. Not yet.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Owen. I’m Vanessa Romain,” She gestures to her name tag as she releases his hand. “As you can see,” She lets out a soft laugh that sounds almost like a giggle. “I’m Maisie’s teacher and can I just say I’m absolutely _thrilled_ to have the opportunity to teach Maisie.” Owen’s eyes narrow down at the woman as she touches his arm and guides him away from the doors. “I read her transcripts and just…I was blown away.” She pushes her straight black hair over her shoulder and bats her eyes and Owen gets the feeling that he’s being flirted with.

“Yeah, Mais’s absolutely extraordinary.” Owen says proudly, sincerely and doesn’t try to hide his smile as he thinks that he said the same thing about Blue with an identical tone. 

“Miss Dearing told us that she was operating at a genius level when she enrolled her.” Miss Romain hummed her eyes taking him in again.

“Mrs. Grady.” Owen corrects a bit gruffer than he intends.

“Excuse me?” Maisie’s teacher inquires.

“Claire. We’re married. She’s still listed as ‘Claire Dearing’ on official paperwork because when we originally filed for guardianship of Maisie we weren’t married at the time.” Owen explains. “It’ll be corrected when we get the official adoption papers.”

“Oh, of course. I apologize,” She gestures to the simple wedding band that rests like an unusual but comforting weight on his ring finger. He’d protested wearing it, at first, and not for any other reason than he’d never worn rings before and it felt weird. It made Claire happy to see him wear it and Owen found that the longer he wore it the less he noticed it. It was slowly becoming apart of him …like his dogtags. He wore them too. He’d taken to wearing them again after the Lockwood Estate Incident after nixing them during his years on Isla Nublar. “I’ll be around if you have any questions.” She touches his arm again and Owen’s eyes narrow watching her depart. He turns to the refreshment table set out behind him. There’s an assortment of appetizers, wines and champagnes but nothing that even looks remotely appetizing to Owen. Half of the shit laid out he didn’t even know the name of.

He picks up a small silver spoon and examines the caviar on it for a second before he puts it back in the bowl. It was about the only thing he recognized and he definitely wasn’t going to eat it.

“Hello.” A soft voice greets from his left, a thin and pampered hand shooting out beside him to grab a cracker and the small spoon of caviar to spoon it onto the cracker.

“Hey.” Owen greets — a knee jerk reaction — moving away to give her space that so she no longer feels obligated to invade his. Invading his space was dangerous. He didn’t like so many people at his back and he already felt incredibly uncomfortable here.

“Relax. You look like a cornered lion.” A soft thrill of laughter follows as Owen looks at the blonde in question. She’s long-legged and wears a helluvaa fancy white dress. Bold, considering the assortment of foods and staining wine that could be spilled upon it. His eyes don’t linger long. She’s pretty to the eye but she ain’t no Claire ( and thankfully there was only one Claire Dearing in the world ).

“I’m Senator Monroe. Janelle Monroe.” She extends a hand and Owen shakes it. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Miss Romain. I’ve spoken to Claire a few times on the phone in regards to her little Dinosaur Protection Group.” The Senator gives an flippant wave of her hand, as if Claire was a small girl playing dress up with dolls and Janelle Monroe found it _cute_ but didn’t take it seriously.

Little? _Little_ Dinosaur Protection Group? Owen can’t help but feel offended at the Senator’s choice of word. Little. He scoffs before he can stop himself. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally ruin anything that Claire might’ve been trying to bridge with the Senator before him. 

Damn if Ms. Monroe’s comment didn’t rub him the wrong way though.

DPG was worldwide, had supporters and volunteers from every country in the world. Though all of Claire’s volunteers played a role the point of fact was that without Claire and her passion, her determination and her tenacity it would not be what it was. Little. Owen’s stands straighter, pulling himself to his full height as he levels a stare at the woman before him. She might’ve been a Senator but she only had power in her little branch of a single country’s government. Claire Dearing had her beat in Owen’s book.

Owen tells himself to stop. To think about it before he opens his mouth…

He thought about it for about two seconds.

“ _Little_?” He was still stuck on it and the word twists itself from betwixt his lips like an insult as he spits it back at her. If she thought she was intimidating to him she was in for a rude dose of reality. “Hundreds of volunteers and supporters from every country in the world and you’re going to stand here and call it little?” Owen’s polite as he talks to her, but that’s largely the military man in him. “With all due respect,” Owen leads meaning that he was about to say something highly disrespectful. “that’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.” Owen smiles as he reaches for a glass of champagne. He looks over her shoulder, and downs the bubbly alcohol in one swig. It’s no cold, fresh beer but it’s the best of two evils. “You want my advice,” He leans in, lowering his voice. Whether she wanted it or not he was going to give it to her. “Don’t insult a man’s wife or her hard work to his face. It’s poor taste.” Owen steps around her then, dropping his empty champagne flute on a tray as he walked by seeking out Maisie’s teacher as he plucks Claire’s crumbled question list from his pocket.

 

* * *

 

Owen pulls a beer bottle from the fridge, juggling a bottle of chocolate milk for Maisie and orange juice for Claire between his arm and ribcage. He nudges the door closed with his elbow and steps out of the kitchen and hands the pair their drinks as he settles into his place on the couch sandwiched in-between them. He throws his arm over Claire’s shoulder, twisting off bottle cap and lifting the rim of the bottle to his lips, tipping it back, glad when the beer washes away the taste of the champagne that lingers in his mouth.

“So?” Claire puts her hand on his knee. “How’d the PTA meeting go?”

A lot of colorful words come to the forefront of Owen’s mind but mindful of Maisie’s presence as she sips her chocolate milk as she leans against him Owen refrains from speaking them. He studies Claire for a long moment debating whether he should be honest with her or not. It was shit show and it was only the first of many …an hour of pure hell for Owen but luckily it was just ‘introduction’ day and nothing of actual importance was shared. So, he had that to look forward to in the near future.

“It was …,” He wasn’t ready to lie, though, and he spends too much time visibly hesitating on his words. Claire tilts her head to the side and levels an expectant stare at him. “interesting.” He settles for glad that for the moment Claire lets it slide as her attention returns back to the movie as the commercials draw to a close.


	10. Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For starters, this chapter was meant to be later in the novel but when I sat down and started writing, this was what I ended up with. It's a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for Owen for several different reasons which I didn't mean for it to be but ended up being on it's own. In lieu of letting the novel take me where it needs to go I went with it.

Owen doesn’t own a suit. Not a black-tie sorta suit, anyway. Scott’s got plenty of them but he’s at least six inches shorter than Owen and not nearly as broad. Which…meant that despite Scott’s offer that Owen could borrow one of his for the ceremony Owen wouldn’t be wearing one. No doubt he could’ve probably ran to Men’s Wearhouse but he doubted that they had suits that would fit him the right way and there was no way it could be tailored to fit him on such short notice.

This wasn’t an occasion that Owen wanted to look sloppy for. He knows that Claire loves him for him and he knows that his appearance wouldn’t make a difference to her — just as long as he showed up.

Owen knows he’s damned lucky and that’s why he wants to look his absolute best for her. For Claire. Because he wanted to. Because Claire deserved the very best of him. 

She spent the night at her sister’s house.

“ _It’s bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding_.” She told him with a shaky laugh that tells him she was fighting tears. It was the first night since they’d went on the rescue mission to Isla Nublar to save Blue that they hadn’t spent together. Plus, he attributed some of her newfound tendencies to cry at the smallest things to her progressing pregnancy. 

 

Maisie was in her room putting on the dress that Claire and her’d went shopping for earlier in the week. She was the flower girl in their small, intimate wedding. Karen agreed to be Claire’s maid-of-honor. Scott agreed to be Owen’s best man. Owen’s circle of ‘friends’ was extensively small and he hadn’t had contact with Barry since the Isla Nublar Incident. The first one, that was. Not that most recent one where Mt. Sibo decided to blow it’s top and he almost was crushed and burned alive by molten lava.

Owen reaches for dark blue garment bag in the furthest corner of the closet he could possibly shove it. It feels like it’s gained weight since he’d last touched it — which was ridiculous he knew.

He kicks the closet door shut behind him and carefully lays the bag out on the bed. Owen takes a deep breath as he studies it with uncertainty, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s inoffensive in and of itself. He should be proud of it, he knows. He leans down and grabs the zipper and pulls it down and opens the garment bag to reveal the pristine and neatly pressed Navy uniform. His metals gleam, immaculately polished back at him, each winking with a memory that he’d rather forget.

“Owen?” Maisie knocks lightly on the bedroom door and Owen’s startled out of his thoughts as his head whips in her direction, eyes wide with surprise. His surprise morphs into sheepish apology and then to soft affection. Claire has her dressed in a simple army green dress with a ballgown-esque skirt. For a moment Owen isn’t sure what to say. Maisie fusses with her hair, smoothing it down her shoulder and then flicking it over so it hangs down her back.

“Don’t laugh, ok?” She mumbles, her cheeks growing red and she hides her face in her hands.

“Hey, hey.” Owen takes a step towards her and touches his hand to her shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Why would I laugh?”

“It looks stupid.” She mumbles. “ _I_ look stupid and …and ugh girly.”

“No. No you don’t. You look beautiful, Mais.”

“Thanks.” She looks at him with a smile. “I had this idea…I took the ribbon off the dress and I was thinking maybe you could braid it into my hair and maybe do a braid crown.” She gestures with her hands around her head to gesticulate what she means.

“Yeah. Just let me get dressed and I’ll braid your hair.” Owen agrees, pivoting back towards the bed. Maisie stretches up on her tiptoes in his peripheral vision.

“Woah! Is this your uniform?” She rushes forward before he can stop her, launching herself on the bed unceremoniously, tucking her knees up under her as she runs her fingers over the metals that adorn the uniform.

“It was.”

“You were pretty decorated,” Maisie remarks, looking up at him with large, questioning eyes. “What rank were you?” She asks, tucking her hair behind her ears as she turns her gaze back to his uniform, running her fingers over the coarse fabric.

“Lieutenant Commander.”

“Wow,” Maisie breaths with unbridled awe in her voice. “That’s so cool, Owen.” 

Cool. Not exactly the word Owen would use to describe his time in the Navy and the SEALS. He’d served his country with pride but the scars left behind weren’t made with pride.

There was a lot of sorrow, grief, regret and guilt etched into each battle scar he’d carried with him from the battlefield.

“Hey,” Maisie stands on the bed, balancing herself for a moment and touches his shoulder in the way he’d touched hers moment’s ago. “Eyes on me Owen.” He rolls his eyes up at her and snorts as she uses his own tactics against him. “Remember what you told me? That we suffer because we’re strong? Because we survived?”

“Mais, I don’t think that’s —” Owen starts.

She silences him with a stern look that reminds him irrevocably of Claire. Maisie places both her hands on either side of his shoulders. “You survived. You survived because you’re strong. You’re brave. You’re the bravest and strongest person I know, Owen and I …I look up to you.” And then she’s hugging him so tight that he lets out a surprised and strangled breath, crushing her to him in return. 

“If the uniform is your nightmares…you gotta prove that you’re not afraid of them. Just like you told me to do with mine.” Except he was. Facing off against dinosaurs that no doubt wanted to eat him was a walk in the park in comparison to his time with the SEALS.

“Ok,” Owen lingers in the hug for a few seconds longer before heattempts to pry her arms from around him. “Ok. C’mon Mais. I’ll be alright,” He offers her a small grin and helps her down off the bed. “Let me get changed and I’ll be out to braid your hair. We gotta think about leavin’ soon.”

She pauses at the threshold of the bedroom he shares with Claire, peeking at him worriedly over her shoulder before she closes the door behind her. Owen changes quickly before he has time to change his mind or lose Maisie’s words of encouragement and studies himself in the master bathroom mirror as he adjusts the collar of his dress uniform’s jacket smoothing it down, fussing the cuffs next. He rolls his shoulders, adjusting to the weight of the decorated jacket finding that it’s easily familiar once more. He does a double check to assure that there are no wrinkles, nothing out of place before he heads out to the living room where Maisie waits for him, twisting the ribbon around her hand and unwinding it. She smiles largely at him when she sees him and turns around dutifully on the bar stool situated at the kitchen’s island so he can braid her hair.

“Got the bobby pins?” Owen asks her, taking a few as she waves the pack, sticking a few between his teeth as he sets to work.

“There.” He takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “Ready?” He asks Maisie, holding his hand out for her to take, relieved when he feels her fingers wrap around his.

 

 

“Wow.” Karen exclaims as Owen watches Maisie hurry into the house, walking around the front of his truck. Karen’s perched atop a ladder in her bridesmaid dress fixing the garland of white flowers and indoor/outdoor lights. “You clean up real nice Raptor Wrangler.” She comments.

“It looks gorgeous.” Owen gestures to the Mitchell’s backyard, trying to avoid Karen’s appraising stare.

“If you think this is gorgeous, you should see Claire.” At that, Owen’s eyes go back to his sister-in-law whose eyes light up and she offers him a mischievous wink.

“She had to borrow my wedding dress to accommodate her baby bump,” Karen descends the latter, smooths her dress and nudges Owen playfully in the arm. “but it fits the old rhyme.”

“Raptor Wrangler, huh?” A gruff voice like whiskey steeped in smoke cuts through the atmosphere and Owen turns to face his father, dressed in his finest ceremony robes. He looks like his father, he realized, just younger and without all the grey.

“Yeah, well,” Owen brushes it off as his father draws him in for a hug.

“I know I don’t say it anywhere near enough as I should but I’m proud of you son.” His father compliments in a low voice. It’s rare. His father was never good at being upfront with his feelings …something that Owen evidently inherited.

“That Claire Dearing …she’s a firecracker, innit she?” His father chuckles under his breath and Owen feels himself give a soft laugh of agreement. “Your mother would have adored her.”

There’s a lot of emotions for Owen to process at once: and for a second it almost feels overwhelming. But he battles it with a deep breath.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask you Owen, that daughter of yours …d’you think she’d ever call me grandpa?” There’s hope in his father’s eyes that makes Owen feel immediately guilty knowing how he has to answer.

“I don’t know Dad. It’s something you’d have to talk to her about. She was really close to her …,” Owen struggles for a moment on what to call him. “to Benjamin Lockwood. She grew up thinking he was her grandfather. It might be a sensitive subject for her so if you do gotta broach it be gentle. Claire and I are workin’ with her, she’s goin’ to therapy but she’s copin’.” And though Owen doesn’t say it out loud he doesn’t really want his dad accidentally ruining the progress that’s been made with Maisie.

“I’ll just tell her to call me Logan then.”

“That’s probably for the better.” Owen replies, relieved, looking up at the lattice-work arch converted into an alter. “Maisie might never call you Grandpa but at least one of your grandchildren will.” Owen, at his father’s directions, moves to stand in position as the wedding guests file out of the house at Karen’s barking commands and takes their designated seats. In the front row, is Owen’s brother and sister-in-law. His brother mock salutes him and Owen rolls his eyes and scoffs, his gaze flickering to where Claire’s parents sit across from his sibling in the front row. Behind them sits Zia and Franklin and across from them seated behind his brother and sister-in-law is Zach and Gray — and the rest of the chairs were filled with family members of Claire’s that he didn’t know …or rather know of. It was small, just as Karen promised them it would be.

Owen stands up straighter as Scott escorts Karen down the isle, fussing with his cuffs and the hem of his jacket. For the first time he’s nervous …and this time the nerves have nothing to do with the uniform he wears. He clasps his hands together behind his back, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

He actually had butterflies. Not about marrying her. In all actuality, they were already married. Legally. This was just ceremony for family and close friends …and because Owen doesn’t want Claire to not get to experience being a bride for herself. 

Maisie comes down the isle next, tossing flower petals as she goes and plops down in a chair on the isle seat reserved for her beside Zach and Gray grinning widely at Owen and giving him a thumbs up.

Owen holds his breath in anticipation as ‘ _here comes the bride_ ’ starts to play from the violins and stops breathing as Claire’s father takes her arm and guides her down the isle towards him.

She’s beautiful. Of course she is, he chides himself. She’s always beautiful. Her makeup is soft, her hair is twisted up and a small crown of flowers adorns her hair. The dress simple and exquisitely elegant with lattice work lace long sleeves and high collar. 

She ducks her head as she approaches as if it would hide the tomato red her cheeks flushed. She whispers something to her dad and presses a kiss to his cheek before she looks at Owen with surprise in her eyes as she steps up to the alter.

“You’re wearing your uniform.” She whispers as Karen skirts forward to take the bouquet from Claire who let it go with a soft gasp and apology.

“Well, gotta look my best for my girl on our wedding day.” Owen says humbly with a ghost of a lopsided grin on his lips.

“And you…damn you steal my breath away.” Claire ducks her head and smiles up at him, her eyes welling with tears. “I’ve got butterflies.” He admits and her cheeks flush brighter.

“Pardon, but you two can admire each other later. After I marry you, alright?” Owen’s father interjects lowly with a clear of his throat and Claire laughs through her apology.

 

The ceremony is short and sweet and Owen would’ve kissed Claire until the sun sank down into the earth if Karen hadn’t wedged them apart with help from Owen’s dad who clasps him hard on the shoulder.

“Alright cowboy. There’s wedding pictures to get in before the sun goes down.” His dad squeezes his shoulder and Owen winces and grinning sheepishly at Claire who sneaks a coquettish look up at him as she moves to stand beside him as Maisie bounces up to them and throws her arms around the two of them.

“Ok, so first set should be of the bride and groom…” Claire looks up at him suddenly and he looks down at her and he gives her a soft nod.

“Actually Karen,” Claire interjects. “We’d like Maisie to be in the photos too.” Claire speaks up and gestures for Maisie — who looks over her shoulder with eyes alight with joy — to join them. Owen rearranges himself then, moving so that one arm can go around Claire’s waist and his other hand can comfortably rest on Maisie’s shoulder. Claire gives her bouquet to Maisie to hold and copies Owen’s posture. 

A couple more pictures followed with family and then Franklin and Zia photobombed their way into a photo ( Owen suspects that Zia was giving him bunny ears because Claire was trying too hard not to laugh during that photo op ) and Claire announced that the entire guest list was joining in and they took a group picture ‘for keepsakes’. As the sun sank down they moved inside for the unofficial ‘reception’. 

Owen ate and excused himself for some air, swiping his beer bottle off the table. He steps outside and onto the porch illuminated, leaning against the support beam as he opens up the buttons on his jacket hoping that the cool night air might cool him off.

Claire is silent as she steps to his side, hugging his arm to her, resting her head against his shoulder. They stand like that for a long moment.

“I think Maisie’s ready to go home,” Claire breaks the silence then. “She’s all but falling asleep in her chair.”

Owen finishes his beer. “I don’t blame her. It’s been an exciting day.” Claire hums her agreement and nods slightly against his arm. “Here.” He fishes for the keys of his truck out of his pocket and presses them into her palm. “You can drive tonight.”

“Really?”

“Well, I remember you complaining that I never let you drive the van so the truck’ll have to work. For now. I’ll go get Maisie.” He tells her watching as she moves down the steps — having changed out of her sister’s dress and into a cargo pants and long sleeve shirt combo — before he gathers a sleepy Maisie up in his arms, bids farewell to the guests and family and carries Maisie to the truck, propping her between them but so that she leans again him in her sleep as opposed to Claire who needs her arm while she drives them back to the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to play off 'Something Blue' in the title and have Blue pop into the wedding but decided against it because realistically a velociraptor crashing a wedding might scare away all the guests except the ones that've been up close and personal with her. Plus, idk, Owen's dad seems like he might grab a shot gun outta his truck and shoot her ( in the interest of protecting the guests, of course ). Kind of gruff, 'shoot first, ask questions later' sorta man ...and we must protect Blue always.


End file.
